d been there by day
and night in the car.

When the Canadian attack at Festubert began, I was wakened one night
by a lull in the booming of the guns, and got up to sit by the
window. It was one of those still nights in June when every sound
carries for miles. The odours of sweet flowers floated up from the
garden below, and the splash, splash of frogs hopping into the river
could be heard from time to time. The guns had stopped, but the rattle
of rapid rifle fire was as distinct as if it had been only half a mile
away; then the rattle of machine guns could be distinguished,
succeeded by the explosions of hand grenades, and I knew that the
Canadians were hard at it, probably with the bayonet. It was not a
comfortable feeling to sit seven miles away and listen to a succession
of sounds so full of meaning, nor is a vivid imagination a good thing
for a soldier to have in the field.

The following day a young lieutenant whom I had hunted out three days
before, came in to the clearing station down the street, wounded in
shoulder, head, hip and leg, with shrapnel. That boy is now Major
Mavor, M.C., D.S.O.

Two days after, we drove over to headquarters of the 1st army. With
the sun setting in a gorgeous glow, and with hedges in full blossom,
Flanders was transformed for once that evening into a land of beauty.

About ten o'clock we heard a hum of an aeroplane overhead and then a
series of explosions, like those of a heavy gun. Flashes were seen in
the direction of a French town where there were great steel works and
we drove home that way. The inhabitants of the country and the hamlets
along the road were all out of doors gazing at the sky, and as we
entered the bombed town we found everybody quite excited. Eight bombs
had been dropped in the place, but none of them had any effect,
except to rouse the populace to a condition of excitement.

Our headlights were burning, and suspicion was evidently aroused as to
the possibility of this being connected with the attack, for we were
suddenly halted by a blue-coated French soldier stepping in front of
the car and holding his gun above his head in the usual way while
eight other French soldiers surrounded us. Some of them pointed
bayonets threateningly at us while we were all covered by rifles. It
was quite a picture. Our headlights shone brilliantly on the three men
in front, while the faces of the others, nearly all with moustachios
and goatees, lit up by the moon and the glar